Draco Malfoy was sulking about his parent's manor, stacking his chocolate frog cards into a castle...bored to death, when his father came in, yelling at a poor house-elf he was holding painfully by the ear. By the sound of it, the Malfoys were out of Lucius' firewhiskey, and he was laying the blame on the first house-elf he saw. Luckily for the house-elf, his two masters soon felt an acute burning pain on their forearms. Draco and Lucius at the same time clamped their hands on their left forearms, as if that would numb the pain. Lucius swore and dropped the house-elf, which landed on its rear.

"Come Draco. We're going," Lucius said, summoning the Death Eater black robes and masks off the hooks in a closet by the front door, handed one to Draco, and put his on while waiting for his son to dissapparate before he did.

They appeared moments later at the old cemetery fence guarding the once home of Voldemort's mother, now shared by her only son and his wife. Voldemort was tight on security; wards were set up so anyone, Death Eater or Auror, wizard or witch, magical or muggle, human or creature, would suddenly become violently sick with a vile respiratory-type fever, that is, unless they had prior permission to be there.

In any case, Draco and Lucius appeared outside the black iron fence surrounding the old, unkempt yard around the old rundown place. They met Wormtail, the fat, balding grubby man standing by the gate and directing people to the back, making sure they were wearing their Death Eater robes and silver masks, and that no one had tried to sneak in uninvited, despite the wards.

Lucius nodded in greeting toward the bumbling traitor and went inside, following Wormtail's gesture toward the living room.

The place was unfamiliar to Lucius, but then again, they had meetings in so many different places as to make it difficult to be tracked, or for a spy to report as to their whereabouts.

Draco looked a little nervous as he glanced at the house, but followed behind his father, down a stair case leading not to the prison Sirius was held in, but to another dungeon at the other end of the castle. Draco looked around; the place was foreboding – a dark, dank room hewed out of rock, with only a few windows toward the high ceiling, letting in bars of light like a prison cell. The rocky wall, if it could be called a wall, sloped down on one side, with loose rocks, some kind of torture machine meant to stretch someone over a bed of nails, and a few rats gnawing at what looked horribly like a corpse left to rot.

Draco gulped, feeling slightly sick. The smell was horrible; the smell of mildew in a damp room, and the corpse and rats...

There were several other Death Eaters there, unrecognizable under the cloaks and masks. However, Lucius seemed to know who most of them were – whether he recognized their mannerisms or statures or what, Draco didn't know; the masks held the ability of disguising one's voice as to not be detected.

Voldemort wasn't there yet, or his wife; Draco knew Hermione would probably be there, as he was there when she had chosen the bastard over him and Snape...but Lucius didn't know at all; or did any of the other Death Eaters (aside from Snape) for that matter.

Finally, when everyone who wasn't in Azkaban, dead, mentally insane, on the run, hiding, in denial, dying, horribly injured, held for trial, or held hostage by the Ministry was present, the murmurs and mutterings died immediately when two figures swept into the room – two silhouettes...a tall thin man in robes and a woman with a heck of a lot hair, in robes, standing by his side. The woman lit two torches with her wand, and the two figures faces were thrown into light; orange flickering light from the flame.

"Remove your masks," Voldemort hissed, and his followers looked at each other before pulling their masks from their faces and pocketing them.

One by one his followers came up to their master, kissing the hem of his robes and murmuring 'master,' as was expected.

Voldemort's eyes swept over the crowd, as he mentally checked to see all those able to come were there; his penetrating cold red eyes like a snake's, leering into his follower's souls to see if they were loyal, truthful, worthy...everyone must have passed the test, for he didn't say anything, just sneered at the confused faces staring between him and the woman at his side.

Aside from Draco and Severus, Voldemort's followers looked confused...for some, the first thought was that she might be his toy, but she wasn't chained to him, wearing provocative clothing, or flinching from him...

Rather, she was standing tall and elegantly at his side...like a lady from a different era...dressed like a queen in a beautiful amethyst robe...a simple Medieval-style robe with long flowing sleeves and a low waistline...no embroidery, and she wasn't wearing any jewels, her bushy hair was up in a sloppy bun, but she looked like a gentle queen, linking arms with the Dark Lord, she looked a little nervous being put on the spot, but reassured by her new authority, and more importantly, her husband at her side. They looked almost like a married couple of regal status from a different time...if it weren't for his pale reptilian face, lipless scowling mouth, and icy red eyes, poisoned with anger and hate.

Seeing his followers staring curiously at the woman next to him, Voldemort decided to explain.

"Ah – I'm glad to see you all have joined me." He sniffed. "No guilt is in the air...first time in years, I believe? No matter. No doubt you, my faithful servants, are wondering as to the witch beside me. Do you not recognize the former Miss Hermione Granger, muggle-born Gryffindor, top- grades of her year, best friend of the Potter brat?"

Hermione felt nervous beyond belief; she saw the twitches in the faces all too-recognizable...sneers sent her way, glares, heads turning...given her heritage and house, she knew she wouldn't be very popular with the followers, but given her choice in friends...what was she doing here, anyway? Why? Why was she here? She should be visiting with the Weasleys, with her parents, with Harry, Harry whom she had loved for so long...

Her discomfort went unnoticed by the others, but he must have noticed...for he grabbed her hand in his, a reassuring, comforting gesture had it been anyone else, but his hands were so cold, and well – it was him. Seeing her disgusted at his touch, he slowly dropped her hand.

There was mixed muttering among his followers...what was she doing here, not being tortured, raped, and crying out for mercy, but at their master's side? Voldemort raised a hand and everyone went silent, waiting for what he was going to say.

"We are now locked in the bonds of matrimony; as she has chosen to be my bride," Voldemort hissed.

The room went deathly silent. Not a sound was heard; it was as if people dared to breathe, to move. Voldemort was married? To a mudblood? A Gryffindor? To his adversary's loyal friend? Everyone's eyes were locked on Hermione and the Dark Lord...what might this mean? Was it truly love, or did they despise each other? Did they consummate their marriage? Would they have children? Would he drag her into darkness, or would she bring him to the light? Was there meaning behind this?

Voldemort continued, "And as such, she is the Dark Lady...and holds as much power over you as I do. She holds your life thread just as I do, can assign orders to be carried out, curse you...and you are not to speak ill of her or mistreat her as you are wont to do [he glared at Lucius], unless you wish to invoke my wrath." He paused, before adding, "And the formalities apply the same as they do to me."

Hermione glanced sideways at him; he had told her she would be Dark Lady, but to hold equal power over the Death Eaters and assign orders and the like? Lady Voldemort...

He lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured so only she could hear, "I trust you. Do not abuse your power or I shall revoke it." She looked startled; he trusted her?

She could see everyone's eyes on her...she recognized in the crowd some old schoolmates, the Lestranges, Averys, Notts, Crabbes, Goyles, Umbridge [Hermione raised her eyebrows but said nothing], Karkaroff, Wormtail...but she refused to look at either of the Malfoys, or Snape, for that matter. /Formalities?/ she wondered. That must mean...well she knew the Death Eaters called Voldemort either 'my lord' or 'master,' answered his beck and call, and bent down, kissing the hem of his robes...she gulped. Did that apply to her as well? She didn't want any of those vile Slytherin men near her robes...let alone their lips. She shuddered inwardly and looked up.

Her eyes made contact with Lucius, Draco, and Snape, who were standing clustered together. In the past, they had insulted her, called her mudblood, or insufferable know-it-all, taunted her, assigned detentions, humiliated her, and now...well, the tables were turned. She now had full power over them. Snape may be a good actor, but his eyebrows were raised into his hair just as much as the Malfoys' were...oh, she could have fun with this...Hermione couldn't help flashing a brilliant smile...a grin highly similar to the Weasley twin's when they were up to mischief. Snape slowly turned his head toward the blonde-haired Legolas-look-alike at his side. No doubt they suddenly felt a pang of remorse at treating her so horribly, when now she held ultimate power over them...

For the first time in her life, Hermione detected a flash of fear in their eyes...fear and shock.

Voldemort looked ready to dismiss them, but Hermione tightened her grip on his arm; he tilted his head over so slightly towards her, as if allowing her to go on with whatever it was.

"Just two things," Hermione said, apologetically, sweeping her eyes around the room, although not really making eye contact. "The whole kissing-the- robes-thing annoys me – a simple bow would be fine. And none of this 'my lord' and 'master' crap either. Call me 'Hermione.' And no, I'm not into using the Unforgivables on people, no matter how annoying and stuck-up they may be."

She could almost hear an audible sigh of relief sweep through the room...and interestingly enough, she caught a glimpse of was it gratitude? in the Malfoys' and Snape's eyes...it was hard to tell with such icy cold eyes as theirs, but...

Voldemort glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, and nodded his approval.

"That's it....good night," Hermione said. She couldn't take this anymore...it was too much. The followers glanced at Voldemort, as if in question to as to whether to obey her orders or not, and he nodded irritably. She watched them all go...so it was just her and /him/ now...

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